Chapter Text
Will stood by the door again, this time with his bag slung low across his back, weight shifted to his good leg. His eyes didn’t move from the treeline. Will nodded. “Let’s go.”
They left the cabin without looking back. The trees swallowed them in minutes. Dense pine wrapped around narrow trails, forcing them to move in single file. Hannibal took the lead, cutting through thorny growth with precise movements, always listening for sounds beyond the forest’s breath. They moved quickly at first, the adrenaline driving them through the first few miles. But soon the land began to rise beneath them, the ground sloping into the beginnings of the north ridge. Every step jarred Will’s ribs, but he didn’t say a word. The sun had dropped behind the mountain’s edge by the time they reached the first clearing.
Hannibal stopped, raising a hand. “We rest here. Twenty minutes. Then we start the climb.”
Will dropped to a crouch, pressing a hand to his side and drawing slow, shallow breaths. In the quiet, he could hear everything — birds rustling deeper in the trees, a distant snapping branch, the dry wind over pine needles. But nothing human. Nothing yet. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching.
“They’ll have a drone grid up by morning,” Will said. “Thermals. Maybe low passes with infrared. This is the calm before the storm.”
Hannibal nodded, crouched beside him. “Which is why we’ll cross the ridge before midnight. Then the riverbed.”
“And if they’re waiting for us on the other side?”
“Then we improvise,” Hannibal said simply. “But we won’t stop.”
Will leaned back, head against a tree trunk. “We never do.”
For a while, they were quiet again. Both conserving energy. Both listening to the forest. Then Hannibal stood, adjusting the strap on his pack. “It’s time.”
Will followed without protest, rising slowly to his feet. They climbed in silence. The slope was uneven, a loose, brittle mess of exposed roots, and the path thinned the higher they got. Will slipped once, catching himself with a grunt, pain sparking up his side. Hannibal turned quickly—but Will waved him off.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Hannibal said, voice even. “But I admire the lie.”
They didn’t stop again until they reached the ridge’s edge. Will stood still, staring down at the vast sprawl of trees and shadows. From here, it looked almost peaceful. And then, in the far distance, faint and flickering: A red light. Followed by blue. Far enough not to matter—yet. But close enough to remind them that peace was never the point.
Will didn’t look away. “We’re not gods, Hannibal. They’ll find us.”
Hannibal stood beside him, gaze sharp and steady. “Then let them.”
And together, they slipped over the ridge.
----
The town they came across was barely a blip on the map — more of a gas station and a handful of houses than an actual stop. But to Will, it felt blindingly exposed, the smaller the population the harder to blend in. They lingered on the edge of a narrow service road, just beyond the tree line. From here, the town sat low and quiet, nestled against a flat stretch of highway. A single general store. One lone sedan parked at the far end of a dusty gravel lot.
Will eyed it warily.
“We can’t hotwire it,” he said. “Too new. Probably got a fob.”
“Well if its keys we need that shouldn't be too much of an issue.” Hannibal replied, though not before raising an eye at Will's eagerness to steal the car. “And preferably, not the owner’s blood on them.”
Will rolled his eyes in response, “Right, how could I forget about your cash.”
Will turned to him. Hannibal was adjusting the hood of his coat, tucking his face into shadow.
“You’re not going in,” Will said, and it didn’t sound like a suggestion.
“No,” Hannibal agreed. “Too many faces remember mine.”
Will grimaced. “So that leaves me.”
“I have every faith in your charm.”
Will gave him a look. “Do not say that with a straight face.”
Hannibal almost smiled. “Then consider it a vote of confidence.”
Will stepped back, staring at the path down to the town. “You’ll wait here.”
Hannibal nodded. “I’ll have eyes on you the whole time. But—Will—”
Will stopped halfway down the slope.
“Breathe,” Hannibal said softly.
Will didn’t answer. Just kept walking. Will just needed to find a mechanics’ garage. He approached the general store first. Not because he needed anything — but because it gave him a reason to look without being looked at. The bell above the door jingled as he entered. Two people inside: an older man behind the counter and a girl restocking bottled drinks near the back.
Will didn’t speak. He didn’t make eye contact. He bought a pack of candy, paid cash, and muttered thanks. His hands shook slightly. The man behind the counter didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Outside, Will circled the block, keeping the gravel lot. It took him nearly ten minutes to find the opportunity. A woman — late forties, maybe — stepped out of the café with a takeout bag, walking toward the sedan. She was distracted, one hand searching her purse for keys, the other holding a coffee cup. Usually he’d look for a man seeing as they tended to be less suspicious in nature, but he was able to tell through simple deduction that she was a kind person. Will crossed the street and timed it carefully. He didn’t speak right away — not until she’d opened the passenger side to toss in the food. Then:
“Excuse me—ma’am?”
She turned, startled. Her eyes flicked over him: ruffled, bruised, polite enough to seem harmless.
“I’m sorry,” Will said, hands up slightly. “My car broke down on the ridge. I’ve been hiking for hours trying to get into town. I—”
She blinked. Hesitated.
“I’m not asking for a ride,” Will added quickly. “Just… any help knowing where I could find a mechanic or at least the number to one.”
The woman studied him. For a long, awful second, Will thought she might recognize him. But then she sighed and gave a tired half-smile. “Jesus. Yeah, alright. You look like hell.”
Will let out a breath through his nose — something almost like a laugh.
“I’ll take that as a yes?”
“Down to the left past the red library and the two next rights.” she said, digging into her coat pocket. “There’s barely any reception, but did you want to use my phone?”
Will denied her gently. He kept the overall exchange short.
“Thank you,” he said, “You just saved me from sleeping in a ditch.”
She chuckled, waving him off. “God help us if that’s the standard.”
She got in the car, backed out, and was gone before he let himself move again. He turned on his heel, walking briskly back toward the trail she guided him through.
The shop was more gravel than pavement. A single garage bay with peeling red paint and a crooked sign that read “Benny’s Repairs” in sun-faded letters. The air smelled like motor oil and scorched metal, bringing back memories. Will stepped into the garage stretching slightly, hiding the worst of the bruising that hadn’t fully faded. He walked with purpose, hands in his jacket pockets, jaw set. The mechanic—late fifties, grizzled beard, oil-stained overalls—looked up from under the hood of a rusted Chevy. He gave Will a nod, cautious but not unfriendly.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, wiping his hands on a rag that didn’t seem any cleaner than his palms.
“Looking to buy,” Will said. “Something clean, runs well. Doesn’t need to be pretty.”
Benny snorted. “That’s good, ‘cause it won’t be. Got a ‘98 Subaru in the back. Runs better than it looks. Two thousand.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “A ’98 for two grand? I don’t want to own the town, just leave it.”
Benny smirked. “It’s a small town, son. Everything’s expensive when you don’t want a paper trail.”
Will’s brow raised at that bold comment. Stepped closer, casual. Just in case, eyeing the adjust nearby and its swing-ability. “Eighteen hundred. Cash.”
“Two grand,” Benny repeated.
Will sighed, pulled a stack of bills from his jacket, and thumbed through them slowly, letting the edge of the hundred-dollar bills flash in the sun. “Fine. Two grand… And another five hundred if you don’t write my name on anything.”
That made the assumed Benny pause, eying the cash. Between the two of them they had about 6 grand in cash, or at least from what Will could tell. This would eat into that a fair amount but no matter how much Hannibal assured him the cards couldn't be traced to them Will felt more comfortable with as little documentation as possible.
“Five hundred,” Will doubled down, “for your silence and your selective memory.”
The mechanic studied the money, then glanced toward the road where no other car was parked. “Your car broke down?”
Will smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Something like that.”
A long pause. Finally, and luckily for Benny, he reached into his pocket, fished out a key, and handed it over. “You fill it up. And I never saw you.”
Will handed him the cash—just enough hesitation to make it feel natural. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
------
Hannibal stepped out of the trees when Will returned, gaze calm but searching.
“That took some time, did anyone recognize you?”
“...Seriously?”
“I'm sure you were believable.”
Will shrugged, heart still pounding. “No one asked questions.”
“And the vehicle?”
“Down by the road, I gassed it up, luckily there weren't many cameras at the station.”
Hannibal smiled. Proud, in that unsettling way of his.
Will scowled. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve finally come home.” Will said, turning his back eager to be able to sit in the plush seat of the car and use the much needed air conditioning.
“I would never insult you with something so sentimental,” Hannibal said. But Will knew better.
Hannibal followed along silently as Will led him to where he had parked the car, tucked away so Hannibal would be in the open for as little time as possible. Once they had made their way to the
car Hannibal had already claimed the driving seat as his own. Will was going to protest but one solid look at Hannibal told him it would be a fruitless task. Yet as he placed his hand into the passenger seat door he couldn't hold it back.
“Wouldn't you be less noticeable if you're not the one driving? At least for the first few days?”
Hannibal's lips turned to something reminiscent of a frown “I suppose you're right, It's been so long since I could drive, I've gotten ahead of myself.” Will made the mistake of once again making eye contact and quickly felt the rush to which Hannibal was referring. Feeling Hanniabls memories of speeding past blurs of tree as if it was his own. Will had no doubt he was an excellent driver, most likely escaped from quite a few crime scenes that way. Once he looked down at the car keys pulled from his pocket. He was reminded of visiting Hannibal and how small his cell was. With a huff he tossed them underhand in Hannibal's direction. Without looking up he made his way through the passenger door.
“If we end up locked away again because you wanted a high I’ll wait more than five years to break you out.”
He's sure Hannibal was pleased with how promptly he joined him in the car.
“Of course Mylimasis, but I'm sure it was I who broke myself out.” Hannibal responded, turning the key.
“Yes but I set up a situation where you could.” The wheels under them began moving onto the dirt road. Hopefully the car getting dirty fast would help them blend in.
“It was not the situation you set up that made me break free, but that you finally did.” Hannibal said under his breath as he adjusted the mirrors.
Will tried not to linger on that for too long, he was obviously implying he may have had many more chances to escape prior. Or, even worse, he simply could have at any point. Yet still, day after day, letter after letter, chose not to. Will hated how easy that was to believe, he had no doubt that he spent his time as a captive doing nothing but observing and preparing. The Dragon was a testament to how many contacts he had in the outside world as well. He's sure he kept his body in top shape as well seeing how fast he was recovering from his injuries. Will supposes he wasn't that much younger, so he really should improve up his daily steps if he will be attempting to keep up with Hannibal from now on.
A shiver sent itself down his back with goosebumps in-toe. The thought that Hannibal had years of focus to improve his physical form and could have, at any point he desired, disappeared himself. The news probably wouldn't have even made its way to Will in time, every night he layed in his marital bed Hannibal could have appeared and stolen him in the night - or upon finding his letters unread, slit his throat without a second thought. The principle was terrifying, and yet completely and helplessly arousing. Will found himself breathing heavier than before, palms sweaty and leg bouncing up and down at a rate near as rapid as his heart. Trying to do anything but think about it at the time. The car hummed steadily beneath them, tires rolling over backroad gravel and the low buzz of a local radio station filling the otherwise quiet interior. Will had one arm crinkling the plastic bag of fluorescent sour candies he’d picked up at the gas station. The smell alone was enough to make Hannibal’s eye twitch. Will popped another neon-green monstrosity into his mouth, the sugar crust crackling loudly between his teeth.
Hannibal shifted in his seat and turned his head, expression tightly composed, eyes set on the road. “Must you consume something that looks like it was made in a laboratory designed by children?”
Will, mouth full, glanced over with a smirk. “You mean delicious?”
“I mean unnatural. That particular shade of green doesn’t exist in nature outside of radioactive waste.”
Will exaggerated a loud chew and spoke through it just to irritate him. “Mmm. Taste that? That’s lime. Or maybe battery acid. Hard to say.”
Hannibal looked pained. “You willingly insult your palate.”
“Yeah, well,” Will shrugged, “a man’s gotta have his vices. Yours involve fava beans and felonies. Mine involve corn syrup and food dye.”
Hannibal gave a sigh of martyrdom, but there was a glint of amusement at the corner of his mouth. After a moment, he reached out — as if unable to help himself — and plucked a single pink candy from the bag, turning it between his fingers with an almost surgical curiosity.
Will raised an eyebrow. “Going to diagnose it or eat it?”
Hannibal considered the thing like it might bite. Then, he placed it on his tongue. His face didn’t so much as twitch — but he did not reach for another.
Will grinned. “You hate it.”
“I feel like I’ve been assaulted by a party clown,” Hannibal said calmly, wiping his fingers. “But I suppose I understand the appeal. In the way one might understand why animals chew on plastic.”
Will snorted, tossing another handful into his mouth. “And yet you’re still here. Trapped in a car with me and my trash candy.”
Hannibal settled back in his seat. “Yes. And strangely… not entirely displeased.”
Will couldn't help a smile and soft chuckle, a sound he had been trying to imitate for too long now. His eyes made their way from the repetitive scenery and glazed over the man beside him. Suddenly, he did not altogether care if Hannibal noticed him staring. He inquired more,
“You said you enjoy driving?”
Hannibal raised a brow. “I don't believe I did?”
“Well, implied.”
“Yes, I've always been fond of it since the first time I got behind the wheel.”
Will had the urge to info dump on how ‘The Journal of Clinical Psychology’ investigated the relationship between psychopathic traits, driving behavior, and the expression of anger while driving. The findings showing that individuals with psychopathic traits tended to have higher rates of traffic violations and exhibited more aggressive driving behavior. But he was sure it would be of more value to the conversation to allow Hannibal to continue on, and so he did.
“I enjoyed driving you especially, so I'm grateful to relive that.”
Will huffed - “Driving me? Lemmie guess, you liked having control over where I was going?”
“You just looked very peaceful asleep, you've spoken to me in great detail about your night terrors so I never imagined you would be so sound and gentle…”
Will's face certainly felt warmer, not so much due to the compliment but rather embarrassment that he felt safe enough to sleep in the car with Hannibal Lecter. In a desperate attempt to save
face and some semblance of dignity he retorted back “Or as you lovingly put it back at the cabin; vulnerable”
“Why do you think that choice of words bothers you so much?”
“Don't play psychologist with me”
Hannibal raised an eyebrow as he said; “Play?”
“You lost the title when imprisoned, and were most certainly fired when you drugged me.”
“Will-”
“Back to driving” will not so subtly changed the topic.
“...I used to drive a motorcycle in my time in Lithuania.” Hannibal obliged, Will flinching at his mention of his past home. In the rare times he did attempt to read up on the many books and
interviews people had with Hannibal during his confinement, one common thread was his outright refusal to speak of his childhood home. Will could never rid himself of the guilty feeling that Hannibal's past was being ripped apart and sold as ‘hot deets’. The day the world found out he was technically a Count was incredibly irritating. He told himself he was simply tired of the vampire jokes when in reality the possessiveness he felt of Hannibal's story being shared was brewing deep in him.
“Never pegged you as an adrenaline junkie, but now that you mention it, I can see it suiting you.’’ The same words could be said for the helmet and jacket Will conjured up in his mind.
“I more so appreciated the self-sufficiency, and it was more out of necessity.” Will could understand that he supposed, though he was having a hard time placing that in the timeline he had of Hannibal's arrival to America. “Though it was well suited in Paris.”
“How did you enjoy your life with Bedelia there?” Will said with more of a desperate tone than he would ever willingly use.
“Not nearly as much as I would have enjoyed it if you had decided to join me. But I wouldn't say the time was necessarily wasted, I've always enjoyed Europe.”
“Not sure if they enjoyed you as much,” Will said in a mocking tone. “You know I was always interested in learning; maybe we—” Suddenly, Will was pulled back to the moment as his eyes met familiar blue and red lights in the distance. But this time, it wasn’t just a dream. Before Will could even begin to think his hand made its way to the bag containing the pistol.
The cruiser passed them without slowing. Yet Will kept his eyes on the rearview mirror, jaw clenched tight. He didn’t breathe again until the lights disappeared behind a curve in the road.
“They didn’t recognize you,” Will said, more to himself than to Hannibal. Disbelief tracing every word. his fingers had curled ever so slightly on his thigh.
“They didn’t,” Hannibal confirmed calmly, though Will noticed the way his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. — just tightly enough to leave half-moons in his skin.
Silence hung between them for a few long seconds, the only sound the steady roll of tires over old asphalt. Then, suddenly, Hannibal pulled over.
The engine idled. Will rested both hands on his lap, breathing slower now. Though the same could not be said for his mind, moving at a faster pace by the second. A million questions all at once; surely if it had been to investigate them being there there would have been more cars in-toe? Was there a tracker in the car? Were they walking into a trap? What the fuck was he doing? Why has he not thought of his wife? Then as sudden as it arrived the anxiety left him with another feeling entirely, it was honeyed glazing over him. His heart still pounded against his chest, yet it was more akin to a birds. Free. He turned his head to the man in the driver's seat, having to remind himself it was indeed Hannibal when he was face to face with the expression across his familiar face.
There was a stillness in him—but not calm. It was the kind of quiet that comes just before something snaps. His gaze locked on Will with an intensity that vibrated beneath the surface, pupils dilated like he’d just tasted blood or heard a symphony composed for his ears alone. The faintest smile across his lips—controlled, deliberate. His eyes didn’t soften; they burned. A slow, simmering devotion threaded with something primal. Possessive. Unyielding. And when he blinked—slowly, reverently—it felt like a trigger being pulled. He didn’t need to say it. The look alone promised everything: loyalty, worship… violence.
The moment itself was something Will wanted to preserve—memorize. In his stillness, there was a kind of vow. Unspoken, but absolute. Will was in the situation he dreaded for years and didn’t need to be saved from it.
The roadside was empty, swallowed by night an in-between space, suspended in the hush. Hannibal’s knuckles relaxed on the steering wheel, one hand sliding to rest loosely at his side. He didn’t look at the road, or the mirrors. Only at Will. And when Will did lean in—just slightly, enough to close the breath between them—it wasn’t to speak. It was to look. To see what was waiting there behind Hannibal’s eyes.
He saw it: a kind of devotion that was violent in its stillness. Worship that didn’t ask for anything back, but would end lives to protect what it had already claimed. They held onto each other's gaze like a ledge. His fingers brushed over Hannibal’s jaw, slow and deliberate It was a gesture he had mastered. Hannibal didn’t flinch; in fact he tilted his head into it, just slightly, as if savoring contact that had been imagined too many times to count. The silence between them stretched—taut. The only sound was the soft breath they shared in the space between.
And then Will closed it.
His lips pressed to Hannibal’s with complete certainty. Kissing not in spite of his nature, but because of it. Hannibal didn’t move at first—almost reverent, like he didn’t want to ruin it by wanting too much. Then his hand rose, fingers brushing Will’s cheek, grounding them both in the moment neither had dared to plan for.
It lasted only a second before Will pulled back and said as softly as words could possibly be said. “Drive.”
Hannibal barely needed a moment to process, feet heavy as lead on the peddle. Faster, Faster still till Will was more afraid of the speed then death, then the possibility of those lights resurfacing. Eternally glad he let Hannibal drive. Each turn sends the electricity from his brain to his blood. Unable to overthink or think for that matter. It couldn't begin to matter if these speeds called attention to them, that they'd surely be pulled over and have to fight once again. Those thoughts couldn't begin to keep up. They left them on the road beside the traces of rubber now etched into the pavement.